


Guilt Trip

by tastesofsuga



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Gore, M/M, Yumark - Freeform, Yuta is an assassin and Mark is his apprentice, dont read if you dont like blood ;-;, this is fluff in my head but .. idk, warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastesofsuga/pseuds/tastesofsuga
Summary: Yuta's hands were still moist and sticky and dark red and Mark’s face was slick with blood that was now smeared onto his cheeks and neck. He was used to it though and tried desperately not to think about where it came from.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Guilt Trip

His blood-drenched, button-down, shirt gripped his protruding muscles in the most glorious way. The hotel’s wallpaper was peeling from its place and Mark could have sworn there were already preexisting bloodstains on the floor. The room smelled _good_ , however. _Sweet. Metallic_. It was Yuta’s smell. His natural pleasant scent plus the copper-tinge of the blood that wasn’t his. It had begun to pool around the older’s feet, dripping from the ends of his drenched sleeves and down his fingertips. His eyes were dark, distant, looking toward a somewhere that wasn’t here. He drifted into the room as if something else was carrying him, and Mark wondered how he had even gotten there in his disoriented state. 

Mark stood, which was not enough to snap the older out of his daydream. In the dim moonlight that drifted in through the hastily, half-closed, drapes, the blood sparkled and glowed and Mark noticed tiny drops of it speckling the older’s face like freckles. No. Like stars against a still night sky. Here, he didn’t look much older though. His distant gaze and shaking hands made him look young, _child-like, innocent_. Mark had to remind himself that the man had just murdered someone and it wasn’t stars that spotted his pale cheeks but the remnants of someone’s life that no longer existed. Mark had decided he liked them, the dark specs that illuminated the older's face, and had decided months ago that the blood didn't bother him.

It was his job after all. Yuta had begun training to be an assassin since the age of 11. The younger boy had only been training for a few months under the older as his apprentice and still wasn’t near ready to complete a job on his own. Maybe he didn’t want to. Especially after seeing what it did to Yuta each time, you would think he would get used to it. Judging by Yuta’s lifeless stare and trembling body, killing still took a toll on you every time; the guilt turned to ice in his guts. 

“Let me help you,” Mark murmured, approaching the older who jumped backward, forgetting he was now safe.

“Oh, right.” Yuta looked down at his hands that were coated in the thick red liquid. Mark was silent as he slowly stripped the older. Taking care to slowly unbutton his shirt and throwing it into the furthest corner of the room, out of Yuta’s sight. His hard pecs were glossy with crimson splotches. Mark should have been disgusted, he should have wanted to run far far away from the scene in front of him, but his feet stayed planted. Eyes darting across the older’s muscles and now bare upper body. His own hands were slick with the mess that was now turning cold and sticky. Yuta was still frozen in place. It could be a hundred degrees out and he'd still be frozen from the inside out. It was something he couldn't melt on his own, something he couldn't shift at all. Despite being used to his role, and good at it, the guilt still found a way to haunt his waking hours. It was as if the blood on his hands never washed off and the dead were perpetually pointing daggers back at him. 

When Mark finally met his eyes, Yuta's expression was grave. His face was a mix of cold, fearful, anxious, triggered by a hair. The older tried desperately to hide that part of himself, he was constantly backing away from the emotions that fired up in his head and it was in those moments when they spilled over the surface that he was least proud of what he'd become. He turned away from Mark, the ice in his veins reminding him of the warrior he had to be and the monster he actually was. Mark placed a hand over his clenched fist that was shaking and moist with red. He was terrified to show the frightened child within, damaged and afraid, the one still hiding in the dark, but Mark usually coaxed it out of him. 

The younger knew what he had to do. What he always did. He needed to lend his warmth, to show Yuta that he could be better, that he was still deserving of being served. Yuta nearly never asked for help, but Mark knew he needed his consideration. He needed to shield the older from his fear triggers until his body stopped living in a state of fight or flight until he found a way back to being calm and steady. He led the older to the nearby queen bed. It was their ritual, after every mission, well, the ones that left Yuta disheveled and shaken like this. It was only Mark’s touch that could calm the older man down, the man who was now receding into Mark’s arms, shoulders hunched, and body racked with tension. It was only Mark’s touch that would lull the man into a state of calm, and finally, _hopefully,_ sleep. 

His body was still shaking and Mark placed his free hand on Yuta’s waist, gripping tightly, in an effort to calm the older and bring him closer. How Mark loved to touch him, never anywhere other than the expanse of his back, shoulders, down his arms, and around his thighs. Never anywhere more than his soft face and his obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks. Mark wanted to be perfect for him, and it killed him when his efforts weren’t enough to stop the older from screaming in his sleep or staying up through the night, still clutching a weapon. So Mark was delighted when Yuta let out a low, strangled sigh, a mix of pleasure and release. 

Mark let his face rest in the crook of Yuta’s neck, leaving soft kisses at the base and following with small nips at his shoulder. Yuta was pressing himself harder and harder into the younger boy. Mark's warmth seeped into Yuta's being and the younger could comfort him without even opening his mouth. He melted into him like ice cream in a warm porcelain bowl, like Yuta belonged next to him, like he belonged _to_ him. And Yuta remembered that each time before they parted the aching to be in his arms would begin anew, their ritual.

Mark could feel the heat rising in his own cheeks and wrapped his arms further around the older, tracing lines and circles and promises into his bare skin. 

“Please..” Yuta was muttering, whose hands found a home around the base of Mark’s face, holding his jaw with both hands, and guiding their lips to meet. Yuta was always hesitant. He was always too gentle, too careful. Mark wanted none of that. The younger wanted nothing more but to feel their body heat become one and to lose themselves in each other's scent and sweet embrace. But, he let the older control the pace and when they pulled away from each other finally, settling into a warm, slow, and luxurious hug, they felt all oppositions melting. The ice and cold that had held Yuta so closely, slipped away under Mark's touch. His chest was rising and falling against Yuta's back, their breaths in unison, and the warm blood that they could feel in each others' embrace pounding loudly in their ears. 

His hands were still moist and sticky and dark red and Mark’s face was slick with blood that was now smeared onto his cheeks and neck. He was used to it though and tried desperately not to think about where it came from. Mark looked up at the older through hooded eyes, remembering that the older’s face was too speckled and smeared with the stuff. This was his price to pay for Yuta’s deed. A transfer of trauma from the older to the waiting, wanting, and eager younger boy who willingly let the older use him until he was content. Until they were both covered in the blood of someone else. Until Yuta could sleep at night, knowing what he’s done, and Mark could sleep too, telling him everything would be okay. 


End file.
